From The Street
by JetStorm the Sparkling
Summary: A homeless music dealer. A stoic policeman. A rebellious young woman. Three people with vastly different pasts. Can they work together to bring down the drug lord Megatron?


**From The Street…**

**Chapter 1:**

The steely grey clouds that covered the entire sky seemed to be just another part of the city. And, as far as Jazz was concerned…they were. For the next five months, those clouds would be an almost permanent fixture overhead. It was late summer, bleeding into a miserable, chilly autumn, which would become an even more miserable, frigid winter. Jazz sighed, and pulled his tatty jacket a bit tighter around his shoulders.

The problem about living on the streets wasn't that people looked down on you, or you had to fight for your food with stray dogs and rats. It wasn't the fact that if you hung with the 'wrong sort' you might end up shot. The real enemy of anybody who lived on the streets was the weather. And the meanest weather of all was whatever Old Man Winter decided to throw at the unfortunates.

Jazz considered himself lucky. After all, he'd lasted five years on the streets. He was confidant he'd last five more. He didn't deal in drugs or anything quite so nasty. He did what he loved, making – and selling – music. It was a more honest way of making money for a meal. And he didn't have to run the same risks as the typical middlemen for the drug dealers did. He was, in a sense, his own boss. Which suited him just fine. Mind, some of the music…okay, almost _all_ of the music he sold was bootlegged. Sometimes, he'd manage to use the old recording gear Swindle had (for a price, always for a price with that man) to record a few of his own songs…which he would sell for a much higher price than the other stuff. Jazz had his pride when it came to music. Anyone who said otherwise clearly had never met him.

At the moment, said music dealer was leaning against the wall of an alley, looking up at the cold grey sky. Ragged black dreadlocks hung in his face, but somehow, it suited him. He looked somewhat like Bob Marley. Only his eyes were a bizarre combination of deep brown and vivid blue. Somehow, though, the mix just added to the rightness of his appearance. His jacket had once been black denim…it was now faded to a slate grey, and was threadbare. Jazz had clearly tried to patch it a few times; the blue patches on the elbows were beginning to fall off, the stitching none-too-expert. His jeans were a tad too long, and ragged at the hems, worn through at the knees. A loose Bob Marley shirt that had obviously seen better days was worn under the denim jacket. If you didn't know this music lover was homeless, you'd think he just looked scruffy on purpose.

_Gonna need a new coat soon._ He thought, watching the flat clouds. A light breeze had picked up, and Jazz caught the familiar bite of autumn in it. Some could feel the seasons changing, others could smell it, and some said they could taste it. Jazz felt it. And heard it. He always compared each season to an instrument. It was never the same two years in a row.

Turning so the breeze caressed his face and threaded through his hair, he half closed his eyes, trying to hear the coming autumn. It would be cool, a bit rainy, but drier than last year. It seemed it would heat up to wonderful temperatures right before the first snows of winter…

_Violin_ Jazz thought with a smile, opening his eyes. _This autumn with be a violin_. But he still needed to get a warmer coat. The thin denim one should have been tossed out this past spring but…it was the only one Jazz owned. He couldn't get rid of it without having a backup. _I hope I c'n find somethin' before de snows get 'ere. _

He left the alley, zipping up his jacket, for all the good it would do at this point. As he passed by an abandoned garden from decades ago, he picked up the bag he'd tucked there a few hours ago. As he walked, he slung the strap over his head, and opened up the bag, checking to make sure all of his yet-unsold music was still in there…along with the money he'd made this morning. Everything was still there. Jazz let out a little sigh of relief. Just seeing that everything was as he left it was an immense amount of stress gone. Settling the bag on his hip, he walked to the one place he knew was open for a few more hours, and was warm…the subway station.

-Across town at the precinct-

Grey, powdery, cotton ball clouds churned in the sky above the Police station and the surrounding city. A groan escaped the officer that was looking out the windows as his shoulders slumped.

"What's the matter Prowl?" His tall, blue-haired partner asked him.

He sighed one last time and turned away from the swells of grey threatening to break open and spill the frigid contents all around the city. "Just not enjoying the view..." he said flopping down into his swivel chair and turning back to look at the papers slightly scattered across his desk. He looked over the reports of their new assignment had developed recently, involving yet another teenager they suspected worked for Megatron: selling drugs.

They had been looking for solid, hard evidence that they could charge him with dealing, supplying and transporting all different kinds of drugs and possibly arms. They had been working on this case for years and all possible leads that could be associated to it. This new teen was a young woman, fresh out of high school. It appeared she was a new drug dealer in the 'game' of things. Prowl rubbed a hand over his mouth and looked up at his partner and boss.

Optimus was the Chief of Police and an active officer, always staying busy with one case or another. He had chosen Prowl as his partner when he got promoted to the position. Prowl watched as Optimus got up and placed his hands behind his back and walked over to the big window, "Prowl...Did you ride your motorcycle to work again today?" Optimus asked without turning around.

Prowl, not known to show much emotion openly, looked almost sheepish before answering, "Yes, sir. The forecast said it would snow after dark." Prowl had a very expensive, very fast bike called a Ducati. It was painted just like a patrol motorcycle. He had used it before in a high-speed pursuit, when the usual police cruisers simply could not keep up with the one they were trying to bring down.

"Well if the weather does turn for the worst, I'll get you – and your bike – home." Optimus said returning to his desk. He met Prowl's blue eyes and saw disappointment there. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, and switched the topic back to the case at hand. "He's recruiting younger all the time...and we still have no way to prove it..."

"I agree Sir." Prowl said, picking up the file again.

"Prowl...it's just us here...you don't have to call me 'sir'." He sighed. No matter how often he reminded Prowl, the younger officer always remained painfully polite. "Now, what do you think of this new girl?" he asked, nodding to the only known photo they had of the female.

Prowl nodded and picked up the report with the young woman's picture paper clipped to it. "So far all we know about her is that she's in her late teens, putting her age anywhere from 16 to 20. She is about 5' 11" and possibly 130 pounds, but because she is rarely seen without a jacket of some sort, it's very hard to tell for sure. Her street name is 'Crescent'." Prowl finished reading the report aloud and looked up from the file to see Optimus deep in thought.

"You'd think by now she'd picked a different street name. From what I know 'Crescent' is short for 'crescent wrench'." Unexpectedly, a female's voice chimed in. The speaker was none other than Elita, Optimus's wife. She looked comfortable, and dressed for the weather in a white turtleneck shirt with a navy blue vest over it, and sensible navy slacks. Her shoes were simple walking sneakers, and not the high heels some women wore each and every day.

"Hello, Elita." Prowl waved to her as she walked over, to get her daily hug from her husband.

"Hello to you, too, Prowl. And My lovely Optimus." She greeted in return as she was wrapped in Optimus's arms. "By the way…the closing weather report was that snow should be falling within the hour."

This update was met with a very un-Prowl-like groan. "This season hates me…" he mumbled.

Elita chuckled, and looked over at the photo of the girl the officers had just been discussing. "Hmm…I think she's around 18 or 19." She said, after looking at the sullen-faced girl with shoulder-length brown hair. Lighter brown highlights, the kind a serious stylist might call 'honey' or 'goldenrod', were streaked throughout, most of them natural. The color of her eyes was hard to tell, but they were probably dark. Either green, or purple. But definitely not a common brown.

"We figured Megatron was recruiting younger these days." Optimus said with a frown.

"Well, of course he is!" Elita exclaimed. "Honestly, dear, I thought you'd notice it…it's mostly the high school students that get the drugs he's selling! And kids tend to trust someone their own age instead of an adult."

Prowl looked up, "You know, sir, your wife is right."

"I knew she was smart." Optimus smiled at Elita. "It's one of many reasons we're happily married."

"Still…it makes sense to recruit someone who's in high school…to move the drugs a bit more easily." Prowl continued. "This just means we'll need to watch the upper-class kids closely, since they're the ones that have the kind of money to pay for the street drugs."

**Subway Station, East Stop**

Jazz hunkered down on the bench on the platform, ignoring the roar of the train as it pulled into the station and people got on or off. He wasn't going anywhere. He just wanted to stay warm. And with the sudden chill of a storm outside, he wasn't going to risk getting caught in it. Not with the clothes he had at the moment.

"Jazz, you still looking for shelter tonight?" a familiar voice asked.

Jazz looked up to see Skywarp standing on the platform.

"Yeah, I need a place for th' night." He nodded. "Don't need the BPD takin' me in t'nigh'. Don' need trouble like dat."

"Me and TC found a good place. Warm, mostly dry, and abandoned. We won't be bothered." The other man grinned, his own patched jacket slung over one shoulder. "C'mon…let's try to get there before the clouds open up."

Jazz picked up his bag as he got to his feet. "This fall's gonna be a violin." He said softly.

"Wasn't it a saxophone last year?"

"So? Was dry last year. This one sounds like it'll be a rainy one. But heatin' up afore the first big snow."

"You know best." 'Warp only shrugged as the two headed back up to the street, and the cold…where it was already raining. Mixed with snow.

The weather would make for a miserable night.


End file.
